It is only quiet in our home when the boys are sleeping or when we have just come home from the library with bags full of books. Then, it is sacred, still, quiet. Otherwise, it is constant noise. They love to hear their voices loud, and they talk over me and each other and the shout and laugh and scream.
They don't walk quietly, they stomp, jump, run, tumble, and fly down the stairs. They dress up like ninjas and hit and kick each other, yelling "HI-YA!!!" They ride their scooter around the house and chase each other yelling "I'm gonna get ya!" They jump off the bed, making the ceiling above the living room boom and shake like an earthquake. They get angry and yell and cry and hit each other. Then yell for me and cry some more.
Peace comes here;
They need this. They need to climb with a purpose. They need to see brown dirt and put their hands on it. They need to climb up high and see the earth from a new perspective, quietly hidden among the leaves, like spies.
They need big space to run a long time, and then pause to watch a snake slither into its hole.
They need green.
They need the peace of a steady river that has been flowing for ages. They need to feel it with their fingers.
They need to see a seemingly unsurmountable task, and then they need to conquer it, with their strong, growing bodies.
And I need it too. My heart fills up with love and joy when I am in a space like this. I feel like the happiest, luckiest person on the planet. I see how nature has created the most perfect home for us to live, and I am reminded of all the goodness surrounding me.